


And We Will Never Be Afraid Again

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Acespec People Having Sex, Asexual Crowley, Asexual Relationship, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 07:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20862350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Sometimes the feelings are too much, and Aziraphale just has to touch, to be as close to Crowley as he physically can.





	And We Will Never Be Afraid Again

**Author's Note:**

> I would give this a title from Florence + The Machine's "Bedroom Hymns", but I already did that, so I used a line from "Spectrum" instead. 
> 
> In this fic both Aziraphale and Crowley are on the asexual spectrum somewhere. To my mind, this version of Crowley wouldn't bother about sex if Aziraphale wasn't interested, but he isn't repulsed at all and derives physical pleasure from it once you get him going. Aziraphale doesn't have a sex drive per se, but in the particular moment that is this fic, sex seems an appropriate outlet for his feelings (of which he has a lot). That's why I decided to label him as demi, since he has some level of interest even if it's only with Crowley. However, as far as both are concerned, this could be the only time they ever have sex and that's fine.
> 
> In other words, it's part of my continued attempts to write about asexual people across the whole spectrum of how we can be and feel and behave, and portray some of the different reasons asexual people might (or might not) have sex. You can still be asexual if you're curious about sex! You can still be asexual if you have sex because it relaxes you! You can still be asexual if you enjoy the physical sensations! Etc, etc. 
> 
> Crowley is also genderqueer in this fic! He just goes with what is comfortable for him, in this case that means the configuration normally considered female.
> 
> There is no angst about any of these facts, although Aziraphale finds it somewhat difficult to grasp and worries that Crowley isn't all-in.

"Go on," Crowley says, indulgent, stretching his long body out in their shared bed. His sunglasses are neatly folded, waiting not even on the bedside table but on Aziraphale's desk in their bookshelf-cramped living room, taken off almost as soon as they got home the night before. It means Aziraphale can see his lovely eyes, and the softness in them that has finally been coaxed free when alone with Aziraphale, and only when alone with him. "Whatever you want. I'm up for it."

"I just -- sometimes it's too much," Aziraphale says, hands hovering an inch above Crowley's skin. "It's too much and I have to do something with it, and when it occurred to me that maybe -- I don't normally want this, and I know you don't either, but it feels like perhaps -- "

"Angel. I said yes."

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and lets himself touch. He presses his palms to Crowley's stomach first, feels the warmth of him, the life thrumming under his touch. The muscle shifting under his skin, and the utter lack of tension in him, everything about him soft and trusting. Aziraphale's eyes sting suddenly with the _too much_ness of it, and to hide his reaction he leans down, presses his mouth, open and wet, to the skin of Crowley's hip. Beneath him, Crowley makes a pleased sound, and he slides his hands down to take hold of Crowley's hips, trace his hipbones with his thumbs.

Crowley isn't aroused, but he isn't disinterested either; if asked, or just appropriately stimulated, Aziraphale knows he _will_ rise to the occasion. He's manifested female genitalia today, and that suits the hunger in Aziraphale, the need to touch and share and communicate somehow the enormity of what they are to each other; he won't have to stop too soon, like this, and Aziraphale can wake him gently to pleasure and then to need, and then sate it over and over again.

"A lovely choice, my dear," he says, nudging Crowley's legs apart and settling himself between them. "Are you ready?"

"I told you, angel. You've got to trust me."

"I do," Aziraphale says, because it's true now, because he finally does, without question. Crowley will tell him the truth. He glances up, though. "Is this how you want it?"

"I thought this was about you."

He kisses Crowley's inner thigh, marvelling at the soft vulnerability of the skin there. This beloved body, a human shell for an immortal soul, unnecessary and yet now so beloved, so necessary. He loves Crowley dearly, and would love him on Alpha Centauri or anywhere else, but it is somehow easiest to love him here, in a cottage on the South Downs, contained in a corporeal form that can be touched, tasted, experienced in every way another human body can appreciate.

"Dearest, it could never just be about me," he says, patiently. "I just want to show you -- I feel so much for you, and some days I feel like it might -- "

Crowley's hand rests heavy on top of his head, giving him a gentle nudge down. "So show me." A beat. "And perhaps I'll show you, later."

"I'd like that," Aziraphale breathes, and then sets to work: teasing at first, with his breath and the brush of his lips, working from Crowley's inner thigh and inward to his cunt -- a vulgar word, but one that Aziraphale savours like any other when used in the right sense, when used to express something of the carnal physicality of this.

"Oh," Crowley whispers, his fingers curling, and Aziraphale smiles. Crowley is getting slick now, truly aroused, and the taste of him is exactly what Aziraphale wanted. He keeps licking and teasing, tracing a line with the point of his tongue, letting the heat of his mouth call answering heat from Crowley's cunt; he takes his time, waiting for the tension in the body beneath him to ratchet up higher before he strokes the flat of his tongue across Crowley's clit, broad and wet and lush. His gasp is exactly what Aziraphale wanted as well, and the way his hips lift from the bed to get more, to get the right angle, to get _something_ \-- it's all so dear, and it might just be their Earthly flesh but it _feels_ transcendent, to do this, to do this with Crowley, to be so close to him.

"Are you ready, dearest?" he asks, without pulling back, and Crowley shivers beneath him.

"Go for it," he says, like he's egging Aziraphale on at the dinner table, and Aziraphale obliges as ever. He lets it be sloppier now, makes an involuntary pleased noise of his own as he sucks at Crowley's clit, licks him, brings his hand up to gently push two fingers into the strong clench of him, where he no doubt feels so terribly empty and in need. He won't let Crowley go in need of anything he can give, not for long. Crowley sounds lovely like this, startled and amazed, and when Aziraphale glances up he has his head pushed back into the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut, and his body arches up so sweetly.

Crowley cries out when his orgasm hits him, and Aziraphale takes care that it's a good one -- that he doesn't stop licking and sucking and pressing his fingers deep inside until Crowley flops down again, gasping for breath. Even then, he only backs off a little in deference to Crowley's sensitivity, slowing his pace to make it easier to bear without for a moment stopping.

"Oh fuck," Crowley says, "again? You -- I know you won't stop until you're happy but please, I think -- I think I want you to fuck me, after this one. I want to be that close to you. I want you to fuck me and I want you to spread your wings out above me and, and -- and just take me, like it's your moment of victory, like -- "

Aziraphale groans and pushes his fingers deeper into Crowley again. He can picture it, his wings spreading wide and Crowley beneath him, the flare of his red hair against the pillow and the slack gasp of his mouth at the height of pleasure -- Crowley is clenching tight around his fingers again, already, and abruptly Aziraphale _has_ to do it. He's never felt so seized by desire before, a sharp twist of it that leaves him almost unable to breathe. He rises up over Crowley as requested, shoves his leg up a little -- a little roughness seems to fit the image Crowley has conjured for them, and his reaction is anything but displeased.

"Now, yes, now, angel," he's saying, almost delirious, and Aziraphale leans down to kiss him, hard, the kind of kiss they've rarely shared -- not just an expression of love, of intimacy, but of desire and possession. His wings open without his consciously willing it, arching above them white and proud and strong, and Crowley looks _lost_. He's so tight around Aziraphale, so wet there's no chance of hurting him, but Aziraphale tries to give him a moment to get used to it.

"Dearest -- "

"Move," Crowley begs, kissing him again, vicious like a bite. "Take it, take what you want. Show me -- "

And Aziraphale does, he can't help it. He moves fast, hard, deep -- listens to Crowley's every gasped instruction and feeds them back to him in their kisses. The angles are awkward and Aziraphale is dimly aware that all of this might seem ridiculous in just a few moments, but right now it's all-consuming, the heat of Crowley and the need of him, the irrational sense that they are as close as two beings can be now, like this --

Crowley's fingernails bite into his skin as he comes again, and it rolls over Aziraphale too just a moment later, a wave of pleasure that sweeps all else before it and leaves him spent, aching, barely able to catch his breath.

"Well," Crowley says, into the stunned silence, a few minutes later. "That was interesting." He winces as Aziraphale pulls out of him. "Messy, though."

Aziraphale grimaces a little, very conscious of that as well. He waves a hand and deals with it, glad that they don't have to share the awkward cleaning up part of the human experience. He tucks his wings away as well, feeling vaguely embarrassed now the moment is past, and then he lies down beside Crowley and puts an arm around his waist. "Not bad, I hope?"

"Not bad," Crowley agrees. "Not something I'd do every day. But if you ever want it, you only have to ask, you know."

"You make it sound easy, when I know it's a lot to ask of you."

He makes a derisive noise. "Don't be an idiot, angel. Neither of us want it _per se_, but it _is_ nice."

"I think usually humans think it's quite a bit more than nice," Aziraphale says, not sure quite why he can't leave this alone.

"Nah," Crowley says. "There's all kinds, and you know it. Humans aren't any one thing. And nor are we. We want what we want, and mostly we don't want, and that's fine. Right now, I think I want to find out what a post-coital nap is like."

"It does sound nice," Aziraphale admits. Crowley gives him a look, not quite of triumph, but definitely smug around the edges. Oh, well. Aziraphale finds a comfortable spot curled up against Crowley, and closes his eyes to give sleep a try. It sweeps over him all at once, a wave of heavy warm drowsiness like a dark wing drawn over him in protection, and then he's not thinking at all anymore.


End file.
